“And when we get back,” she says, switchin’ toward the door, “I want every last creamy drop.” I follow behind her, shakin’ my head.
Of course, Cherry doesn’t tell me where we’re goin’ to eat. And I don’t ask. Between you and me, I’m too damned jet-lagged to care. But, wherever it is, I already know it’s gonna be some high-end spot that is probably extremely overpriced and not worth all the hype. But, hey, I’m not the one footin’ the bill. While we’re drivin’, we talk some, but mostly listen to the radio. I find myself takin’ in all the scenery along Rodeo Drive. She makes a turn onto Wilshire Boulevard. When we finally turn into Spago Beverly Hills, we pull up to the entrance for valet parkin’ and get out, then make our way inside. It’s packed as hell up in this piece. I look ’round the room. In the far right corner, I spot Angela Bassett sittin’ at a table wit’ two other chicks.
“Nah, I’m good,” I tell her. Now had it been my girls Beyoncé or Halle—even Nia Long, I’da been like, “Hell muthafuckin’ yeah!” But, Angela Bassett, umm, no thanks! Now, hol’ up…I’m not sayin’ I wouldn’t bang her back out ’cause you already know what it is. She catches Angela’s eye and waves at her.
“I’ll be right back,” she tells me, walkin’ off. She heads over to her table. Angela stands up and the two of them hug as if they’re old friends. Angela introduces her to e’eryone else at the table. They exchange a few more words, then I peep Cherry goin’ into her bag pullin’ out business cards and handin’ them out. Then some white cat gets up from his table and greets her. He kisses her, then Angela, on the cheek. I know I’ve seen dude somewhere, but can’t put my finger on it. They talk a few more minutes, then she follows him over to his table. He introduces her to e’eryone there. And, again, she goes into her bag and starts handin’ out cards. I grin.
“You have twenty new messages.” I sigh, waitin’ for the first message to play.
The next message is from Sherria.
“
